Blind Affection
by Northen
Summary: Sansa is punished for the actions of her brother and the Hound is punished for his own cowardice. Sandors childhood helps Sansa heal and he helps her more than she would ever know. Rated K because of the nature of what happens.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any part or parcel of The Song of Ice and Fire series. That right belongs to the talented George R.R. Martin. I am just using his skills as a must for my own delight.

**A/N: **I have been working on this story, more puttering through it than anything for so long that I don't even recall it's original inspiration. I hope you enjoy it enough to leave reviews. I appreciate constructive criticism as well as praise. If you are going to be rude though, I ask you to keep your comments to yourself.

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Sansa tried to look upset as Joffrey announced that she was to be set aside in favour of Margaery Tyrell when all she really wanted to do was squeal in delight and dance. The King had stared at her intently as he said each word and Sansa tried not to feel unnerved at his speech. Her false fear turned true when he continued with his announcements.

"Lady Sansa, of House Stark; approach the throne to claim punishments for the disloyalty of your treasonous family."

She knew that smirk, she knew it well. She was going to die, she was sure of it. With trembling steps, she made her way down to the main level, gripping the banister so she wouldn't fall. She walked tall and proud between the crowds, crimson shadows surrounding her every step. She had never felt as intimidated as she did under the judgemental gaze of Tywin Lannister. Still, she refused to give in.

"Your Grace," she greeted Joffrey. "I am pleased you have found a woman worthy of your affections and your family," she continued, trying to sound sincere but her voice quivering in betrayal.

"Oh shut up, you idiot," he sneered, watching her wince. "Afraid are you? It's about time you've learned proper respect." It had always bothered him that she seemed to feel she was so much better than him.

Sansa's gaze flicked back and forth between Joffrey and the Queen. Surely Cersei wouldn't allow this. Her twin was still held hostage. He would unquestionably die when word of her death reached Riverrun. Under Joffrey's silent and pretentious gaze, Sansa stilled and awaited her fate.

Despite the surety of his words, Joffrey had not quite come up with a suitable way to deal with Sansa. He hated her, that was true; but he knew killing her was out of the question. His Lord Grandfather would not stand for it. Under normal circumstances, Joffrey would just toss her to his dog but the Hound had disappeared during the Battle of the Blackwater. Some soldiers said he had fled but Joffrey didn't believe them. He now had those same soldiers prodding through piles of corpses to find him. Sandor Clegane was the fiercest man he knew; save for his brother, The Mountain. He would not flee. Joffrey glanced at his mother and took note of her apprehension. '_Women, weak women'_ was the only thought to enter his mind. Then _her_ pet came to his mind.

"Mother, you will have Qyburn tend to Sansa. I am sure he can come up with a proper punishment for a traitors' whelp."

"Joffrey..." she began before being cut off.

"Mother, she will go to Qyburn. He is not to kill her. Just punish her."

"Very well," she nodded weakly before gesturing to a guard to take Sansa away.

Sansa had never heard of this 'Qyburn' before but the pit of fear in her gut still tightened and grew despite that. She was too fearful to even fight the guards as they lifted her off the floor.

The guards took her down, down, down and farther down. She was sure she had reached one of the Seven Hells. Nothing else could be so dank, dark and wretched. The very stone smelled of the terror and anguish the walls had endured. Eventually, she couldn't even hear the rats. They did finally stop and she could hear the fumbling of keys before the heavy creaking of an old door. A guard pushed her in the direction of the doors where her wrist was grabbed by an unseen hand. The guards did not follow. She listened as the door was again closed and barred behind her. Shortly after, the screaming began.

When she awoke, she wasn't sure where she was or whether it was day or night or how many days had passed. She knew she wasn't in that terrible hole anymore; there was a soft bed under her and the scent of the room was of fresh rushes on the floor. She sat up to rub the sleep out of her eyes, they felt so heavy, but she couldn't even open them.

"No, milady. You mustn't do that. You'll irritate them."

Sansa felt groggy and confused. "Irritate them? Irritate what?" she asked the stranger in a panic; her hands immediately going to her face. It was heavily draped in gauze bandages. An unimaginable feeling of horror spread over her in waves as she began to claw at the fabric. The apparent stranger did her best to restrain the young girl but Sansa still managed to tear through them. When she finally managed to reach her face, it was sticky with salve but she could still feel the hard ridges of freshly-forming scar tissue. They had burned her. She tried to clear her eyes; something was stopping her from seeing but she had to see what they did to her. What was her punishment for her father and brothers actions? When she tried to take away whatever was there to find her eyes were opened, but she was blind. She reached out in panic to the voice that kept talking to her. The voice kept talking but Sansa couldn't understand the words. Her hands went to the girls' arms, shoulders, over softly hewn fabric, and over thick curly hair.

"Shae?" she asked in a quavering voice, "is that you? What has happened to me? Who did this?" She gripped her handmaid's shoulders as tightly as she could manage in her weak grip.

Shae explained as gently as she could that her beautiful auburn hair that she coveted so much was shorn, and the man they called Qyburn had held her for many days. No one was sure what all they did to her other than what was visible. He had used some sort of acid on her, let it heal for a few days and applied it again. Both eyes were blinded and there was angry scarring across her face. Sansa wanted to weep away her grief but they had even deprived her of that small mercy. The tears could not come.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any part or parcel of The Song of Ice and Fire series. That right belongs to the talented George R.R. Martin. I am just using his skills as a must for my own delight.

**A/N: **I hope people enjoyed the first chapter. I didn't receive many reviews but that is quite common for the first chapter, based on my writing experiences. I do adore reviews and I appreciate them most thoroughly. Without further ado, chapter two!

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"How does she fair?" the Queen asked Shae one morning, genuinely, if not selfishly concerned for Sansa's well-being.

"Her hurts are healing, Your Grace," Shae answered simply. She did not care for the attention of this woman so it was best to answer her inquiries as succinctly as possible.

"And how do they look?"

"Like burns. You could visit her and see them for yourself."

Cersei laughed. "Go see a girl who my son has deemed a traitor? If I did that, he would be as like to do to me what was done to her," she finished, taking a deep swallow of her wine. She had argued with her father fervently over Joffrey's actions but Lord Tywin would hear nothing of it. He only needed her alive. Her appearances did not sway her claim to Winterfell or the North.

Above that, Joffrey had summoned her to his solar after the meeting in the great hall and berated her for some length about openly defying him in public court. She was not the Queen. He must have said it half a hundred times. She was the Queen _Regent_. How she hated that world. _Regent_. It didn't sound regal at all. To Cersei, it was all but a death sentence. If Joffrey wasn't her son, she would hate him for it, maybe even have him killed. Sansa was the key to Jaime. If she died, Jaime died. No one seemed to comprehend that but her.

"Has the Maester seen to her?"

"The old fat man has come and gone almost daily. The other one, the one who doesn't wear a chain hasn't been seen since they brought Lady Sansa back to her chambers." Shae was never one for names and even less so when she didn't like the owner of those names.

Cersei nodded before waving the girl away. As Shae was leaving, Tyrion entered. They all but ignored each other.

"And how does the young lady fair, sweet sister?" Tyrion had been appalled with what was done and he had made that very clear. They all knew that Tyrion would not hesitate to voice his opinions; even if it meant a long and rather boring lecture from his Lord Father later on.

"She is healing," was all Cersei would say. She drank deeper from her cup and feigned interest in something out the window. She was angry with him for berating Joffrey and envious that she did not have the courage in front of her father to do the same.

"And how long will it be before the king starts to parade the 'blind traitor' through the castle and the city?" Joffrey had called Sansa that once in Tyrions' presence but Lord Tywin saved him the strain of discipline by lecturing the boy thoroughly himself.

"_She is a high born lady regardless of what you have had done to her, Joffrey. You will speak of her with the respect and stature she was born into. Her familial house may be burned but if you ever wish to see the Seven Kingdoms in peace again, she is your only key. You've already caused enough damage by injuring her as you have, killing her father and losing her sister. The families of the North are strong and stubborn. They will not forgive you without the lead of House Stark. Winterfell can be rebuilt. House Stark cannot be if there are no Starks. If you don't have them, you don't have the North. I will never hear you talk of her as anything less than Lady Sansa or Lady Stark when there are ears to hear you. Do you understand?"_

_Tyrion had smiled jovially to himself. Joffrey was almost apoplectic with rage and offense. He, as usual spouted that he was the king and could say whatever he wanted. Tywin looked at him and simply said that "Kings will come and kings will go. Any king who is made can be unmade with the proper amount of leverage." _

If his mother had said that to him, his temper tantrum would have been impossible to contain but his grandfather was not to be trifled with. Even he wasn't so stupid as to ignore that.

Cersei sighed with impatience. "As soon as our Lord Father deems she is fit to be seen, I suppose. Servants say she is a fear to behold but I am sure that is more the medicines than anything. Her hair is too short to be properly styled in any fashion so we must wait for that to come back. Joff will insist on parading her around at the Autumn Festival though." Cercei swirled what was left of her drink in the bottom of her cup.

"And of Jaime? What news have we heard of him?" Tyrion was sure word would have spread as fast as the gossip in the Red Keep. The black cells were much too deep for anyone to have heard her screams but she had been suffering nightmares of events she could not even remember. Those screams were the ones that were whispered about in the halls and the kitchens.

Cersei could only shake her head. She had heard no news of her beloved twin. He wasn't dead; that much she knew. She would know if he had been killed; she would feel it. "If he is at Riverrun, it will be a matter of time until he is freed. If they learn of what has happened to Sansa..." she trailed off. No one would harm of child of Tywin Lannister. _A Lannister always pays his debts._

Tyrion nodded. He didn't want any harm to come to his brother either. He had always worshiped and envied Jaime. "He will come back, Cersei." He took her silence for her answer and left her to her solitude.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any part or parcel of The Song of Ice and Fire series. That right belongs to the talented George R.R. Martin. I am just using his skills as a muse for my delight.

**A/N:** My apologies for the delayed update. I have been over-worked and had training over the weekend. Busy lady. But, here is the update. Please enjoy!

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Sandor Clegane sat in the back of the mule cart loaded with the Gods knew what but it stunk! He was relying on that pungency to get him through the gate swiftly. He dared not walk among the crowd as he was heads and shoulders above them all and the rumour was that he was still inside the walls. He had caught wind of the stories spreading of Sansa Stark. He had heard they burned her as punishment for her brothers' sins. He couldn't keep going. He knew what it was like and wished a thousand times over that she had left with him, that he had taken her. He would have kept her safe. Instead, he was hoping the rumours of the King hunting for his Dog, dead or alive was true. If he could get inside the castle, he could help her. He didn't know how but he would do something.

He hunched down as they approached the gates and listened to the farmer as he exchanged words and coin with the gold cloak at the gate; some young poxy bastard that he knew he would be able to take down in a single thrust. Still, he kept quiet as they carried on into the capital. The place still smelled of death and shit. Guards were everywhere prodding at corpses, having stripped them of their armour or other valuables before instructing two laymen to load them into a cart. They would be burned later and the stench would be worse.

Sandor climbed off the cart before it reached the market and tossed the old farmer the other half of the promised silver before climbing the hill to the red keep. He hadn't gone half way before he had paired guards in gold cloaks on either side of them. No one touched him though. He smirked satisfying knowing they were afraid of him. He was stopped before entering the great hall and asked by a member of the Kings Guard to remove his armor and sword. He complied and stripped down to his tunic and breeches before being led to the king.

"So the Dog has returned. I told them all you would. They didn't believe me," Joffrey bragged, glancing around the few people who lingered in the room.

He knelt and submitted as much as he could muster without laughing.

"I have, Your Grace."

"Where were you?" he asked shortly.

"I was in the Kingswood. I was sent outside the walls when Stannis was attacking. My men were slaughtered and I was forced outside the city."

"You're weak. A coward and a disgrace," Joffrey announced loudly. "I should have you beheaded for desertion and for treason." He hadn't had anyone put on a spike in a while and he was growing bored.

"Clegane may be many things but he is loyal," a voice chimed loudly through the hall. "He did come back, after all. That does not lean towards treasonous behaviour."

Sandor's head snapped up quickly. The voice of the Imp was the last that he expected to hear.

Joffrey nodded in agreement but still said nothing. "It wouldn't do to lose such a loyal dog. Let him guard the Stark girl as punishment for his cowardly disobedience. Surely even a craven can keep a blind child from running away," Tyrion finished, seemingly uninterested. In truth, the Hound was the best option for keeping the girl alive. Sandor liked the girl, even doted on her in his own way. He would keep her safe.

'Blind? Sansa? What had they done to her?' He tried to keep any expression of surprise off his face as he remained kneeling in front of the great throne.

"If that is His Grace's wish," he answered gruffly. Joffrey nodded and waved his hand in dismissal. Sandor lifted his huge frame up off the floor and left the hall with as much ceremony as he had entered with.

He gathered his few belongings from his small cell by the kitchens; he had been moved closer to Sansa's room. No one would tell him what had happened to her. They would turn their faces and avert their gaze.

He climbed the stairs in the wing where he knew her rooms were and found his sleeping cell half a turn down the stairs. The room was small but he wasn't likely to be spending much time there. He put his armour in the hearth; he wouldn't be using it for a fire so he might as well use it for storage. The rest of his meager possessions found proper places quickly and he called for a bath. He didn't want to go to her smelling like that farmers' cart. He washed quickly and donned clean garb with a leather hauberk over it all. He knew he wouldn't need his plated armour to watch over one girl and other than Joffrey, who would want to kill Sansa? He notched his belt with his short sword at his hip. There wasn't enough breadth in the stairs to be able to retrieve, never mind wield the great sword that he was accustomed to wearing strapped to his back.

He made is way up the stairs and waved away the stupid looking boy sitting bored and idle at the door. The boy couldn't have left faster if he had wings. Whether it was boredom and detestation of the position he fled from, or the looming mass of the Hound, one could not say.

At this time of day, Sansa would be preparing herself to go to the Sept, unless her habits had changed; so he waited patiently for her to appear. He wanted to see what they had done to his little bird.

He didn't have to wait long. Shortly, her maid opened the door and led out Sansa at her elbow. As soon as Shae saw him, she stopped in her tracks causing Sansa to run into her.

"I'm sorry m'lady. There's a different guard here he startled me," Shae explained; her voice stern and her expression, less than impressed.

Sansa steadied herself and took a step back. "A new guard? What happened to that boy?"

"He was replaced by me, little bird," he rasped. Her beautiful hair was quite short now. Small tufts of red were visible under the scarf she wore tied around her head. The scars weren't as terrible as his; for that he was thankful. The scars resembled the markings of the little vermin that fed off the city's trash. If scars could ever suit anyone, they suited her. If it weren't for the cloudiness that lightly veiled her sharp blue eyes, he would have thought she was wearing a mask.

"S-Sandor?" she managed to spit out. The memories of when she saw him last were still fresh in her mind. He had made her sing for him, promised to take her from here; to keep her safe, but she said no. She believed she would be safe in Kings Landing; someone would save her. Then he kissed her before leaving. She bit her lip nervously at the memory.

"Aye, it's me little bird. The King has decided to punish his pup by putting me to guard you. He doesn't think I am fit for anything else," he explained in an amused tone.

Sansa gave a small smile and loosened her grip on Shae; who was staring angrily at the big man. She didn't like him. But that was nothing new; there weren't too many people she did like.

I won't let him hurt you again Sansa," he promised; his hand naturally going to the hilt at his hip.

Sansa could only nod before allowing her to be led down the corridor. Shae was mumbling in a foreign tongue under her breath. Sandor was sure it wasn't something he would like to hear so just ignored it and walked silently behind them.

He was ashamed of himself to say the least. He shouldn't have left without her. He knew something like this would happen sooner or later. He should have dragged her out of there; gagged her and thrown her over his shoulder, anything. It tore him to pieces to see his little bird having to be led around by that saucy little wench of a hand maid, blind as a new born pup. He could have prevented it. He should have been there.

His eyes followed her as she dropped to her knees in front of the Mother; Shae lighting the candles for her. As for himself, he would have prayed more fervently than the most pious of believers if he thought for a moment that it would help the little bird get her sight back. As things stood, she would not be able to read her beloved books of knights, valour, love and loyalty or the sheets of music for her precious high harp. Even her needlework would have to sit abandoned in its basket. Sansas' dear Seven could not change that. So he didn't pray.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any part or parcel of The Song of Ice and Fire series. That right belongs to the talented George R.R. Martin. I am just using his skills as a muse for my delight.

**A/n:** Thank you to everyone for your reviews. I love getting them.

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Sansa sat at her vanity table, staring blindly ahead. She brushed her hair mindlessly, thoughts passing though her head entirely uncontrolled.

'Why did he come back? He was going to run away. He was going to take me with him. Why, oh why didn't I go? He's right; I am a stupid girl.'

These thoughts spun through her mind as she listened to Shae moving some things in the next room.

The quiet of her morning thoughts was broken by his booming voice. "What in seven hells are you trying to do? Kill the girl?" she heard him growl, and the sound of him wrenching the table back to where it was before.

Shae retorted with, "Did someone forget to feed the dog this morning?" Sansa knew she said this while crossing her arms defensively.

She could now hear Sandor grumbling under his breath and the sound of the other furniture being pulled back.

Sansa couldn't stand it anymore; she hated it when they bickered over stupid things. And a table and chairs was a stupid thing to her. "Shae?" she called, "I would like to go outside, please. Just to the balcony is fine." Anything to stop their quarreling.

All the sounds in the adjoining room stopped as soon as she spoke. She could hear Shae rushing into the room and the heavier sound of Sandors' boots as he followed closely behind her. She stared forward unseeingly at the mirror, pretending not to be paying attention. Shae spoke nonsense to her quietly, more letting Sansa know she was there next to her than making actual conversation.

Shae's hand had just taken Sansa's when Sandor shouted at them.

"No." He barked, startling both the girls. "She needs to learn to do it herself."

Sansa recoiled. "I can't. I don't know where it is."

"You've been in these apartments for over a year and you don't know where your balcony is? You know where it is, now tell me," he said in his gravelly voice.

"I can't see it."

"I didn't tell you to look at it. You're blind. I know you can't _see_ it. I told you to _tell_ me."

"Across the room," she began apprehensively. He sounded angry. '_What right did he have to be angry with me? He's the one that left!_' she thought to herself.

"What is between you and the balcony?" he continued, quietly working his way over to her destination as she spoke.

Sansa gave a full description of the room from her memory. His voice sounded farther and farther away with every step.

Shae began to understand why Sandor was upset when she moved the chairs. She couldn't remember something if it changed. But how did he know that?

"Now walk to it and count your steps. Everywhere you go, count your steps. You will learn the castle by numbers as well as you did by sight."

Sansa did as she was told, taking her time and counting her steps. It wasn't her usual pace, but she didn't run into anything or trip. When she finally felt the heavy velvet of the curtains, she squealed in delight. She made her way back, a little bit faster and tried it again. She disregarded her first few counts, under Sandors' direction until she was able to make the short trip in her normal pace. She repeated this same activity throughout her entire apartment. For the first time in months, she felt a small sense of freedom.

Outside however, was a different matter and she still relied on Shae's arm for guidance. She wasn't ready to try and remember everything in the halls, the yards and gardens when she had barely begun to learn her own rooms. Shae led her around the Gods Wood, guiding her from tree to tree to feel the bark, the texture of the turning leaves and to pick some of the fallen acorns from the ground surrounding the great oak heart tree. Sandor stood at the entrance to the gardens. There was only one entrance so he was sure Sansa was safe.

Tyrion found the big man leaning against the entranceway and Sandor paid the small man little notice when he entered.

Tyrion broke the silence, "so how long do you plan on doing this?" he asked. Sandor shrugged. "You aren't likely to find much for battle or glory babysitting a young girl." Tyrion knew Sandor didn't care about that, but he did know that the way to finding his brother and killing him would not be while watching Sansa Stark. Sandor knew this too but only glared down at him. Tyrion ignored the glower and continued, "You've always watched out for her, why?"

"What do you want, Imp?"

Tyrion shrugged. "_I have a tender spot in my heart for cripples and bastards and broken things._ You do not. I've just taken idle curiosity, that's all."

"My intentions are none of your concern," Sandor responded shortly, clearly ending the conversation.

They stood in silence for a few minutes, both of them watching Sansa amongst the trees.

"Why did you do it?"

Tyrion pretended to play stupid, "Why did I do what?" Sandor turned and glared down at the man. "You're the best hope she has for staying alive," he finally answered. "Joffrey thinks you are an obedient servant and will do anything he tells you. Anyone who pays attention knows better."

Sandor only grunted in reply.

"It isn't wrong for you to care for the girl, Clegane," Tyrion finished before turning and leaving.

Sansa heard this short exchange. It seemed to her that when her sight was taken from her, her hearing became better. She heard things she had never heard or paid attention to before. She listened intently and wondered to herself what kept him there. She would have to keep that in mind; maybe one day he would tell her.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any part or parcel of The Song of Ice and Fire series. That right belongs to the talented George R.R. Martin. I am just using his skills as a muse for my delight.

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"Hello little dove," Queen Cersei stated, after seeing that the brazen handmaid wasn't going to announce her. She followed her short announcement by waving the dark haired woman away like a gnat. Shae merely glowered before leaving the room, leaving the door unlatched.

Sansa curtsied politely. "You're Grace," she started, "what a pleasant surprise it is to have you visit."

"Yes, well, I certainly couldn't just ignore you could I? You're a ward of the Crown; I am supposed to protect you."

Sansa could discern an extreme lack of truth in her words and not a hint of sincerity otherwise. She merely smiled in response.

"Besides all that, I've come for a reason." She paused to gauge the young girls' reaction. Her face was stoic. "Joffrey has announced the date of the Autumn Festival and has decided that you are to attend as a guest of Lady Margaery." She said the name as though it were a bad taste in her mouth. "I felt required to attend to you ensure that you were presentable for such an event and would not cause any embarrassment to the Tyrells and of course, to my son."

Sansa sat quietly taking in all that the Queen said. _How am I to participate in a festival? I've just learned my own chambers and the Gods Wood. I've barely begun learning the gardens._ Sandor had been spending many hours in the past weeks teaching her the castle. She now knew there were seventeen paces across from her vanity to the balcony, eight paces to her lavatory and to her vanity from her bed, there were forty-three steps from the landing of her door to the base of the tower and that the seventh step from her landing had a slightly higher rise than the others did. That didn't even scratch the surface of all the halls and rooms to the Keep.

Seeing that Sansa was obviously not going to be an active participant in this discussion, Cersei carried on, taking a firm grip on Sansa's chin, turning her head this was and that, "It does seem that your injuries have healed remarkably well and your hair is coming back quickly. I will send my ladies to tend to your measurements to make a new dress. You're taller now, your old ones will not do." She didn't mention that Sansa was now clearly taller than her son. He would not like to see that, she thought making a mental note for her shoes to be flat.

"Thank you, Your Grace," Sansa said quietly. "You are so generous to think of me."

Cersei smiled, almost sincerely. She had liked the child and she had been beautiful. She would have made a good and obedient wife for her son until Joffrey had Sansa's fathers head lopped off. Without another word, Cersei rose, and fell in step in front of her guards.

Sansa stood frozen in place listening to the footfalls. As soon as they faded away, Sansa bolted for the bench where she knew Sandor sat, throwing herself at his knees.

"YOU MUST TEACH ME FASTER! PLEASE!" she begged, her voice pitched high in fear. "I can't embarrass myself in front of the whole palace, I can't! He will punish me again!"

"Quiet now, little bird," he said in a calming, soothing voice; a tone Sansa had never heard him use. "You won't embarrass yourself," he continued, stroking the short tufts of hair that had begun growing in.

Shae was quick to climb the stairs after hearing her lady's outburst. A quick glance at Sandor set her at ease that he was not to blame and she felt a pang of emotion at seeing him stroke her hair so gently. He gave a brief explanation of what he had heard as she half-carried Sansa back into her rooms. The halls were no place for such a display; they had ears.

The following days were spent in a whirlwind of numbers. Sansa counted every step of every room she came to. Sandor would purposely distract her or get her to talk to him while she walked. She had to learn to do both at once. At first she would blame him and get so cross with him that she would try to stalk away in anger. This inevitably blew up in her face when she ran into a wall or tripped on a stool. Or Sandor would become angry with her and tell her to figure it all out herself. She couldn't rely on things being in the same spot every time in the halls like she could in her own room. It did eventually dawn on her that being too distracted with numbers to be able to converse appropriately would be just as embarrassing for her as falling or running into things during the festival.

"There, one hundred and thirty seven paces and we are at the back wall of the Queen's garden!" Sansa exclaimed happily. True enough, she stood at the edge of the pathway.

Sandor smiled to her, gently took her hand and led her to a bench. Sansa knew without thinking that the bench was twelve paces and to the left.

"How did you learn all this counting and pacing?" she asked picking at her skirts, not that she would be able to see anything there anyways. She could rarely get the big man to talk to her and when he did, whatever he shared was always important and was always worth remembering.

He only smiled at her, "That's not a story you need to hear, little bird," he started, seeing her face fall in disappointment. "The spiders and the bugs tell tales to those who shouldn't be listening," he explained further, in a quieter voice. Sansa nodded in acknowledgement before standing to walk back to her rooms.

The next morning, as promised the Queen's seamstresses came just after the mid-day meal. They stayed quiet throughout all their measurements, only speaking when they needed her to move and arm or turn around. Sansa knew the second the heavy door shut, their chatter would be endless.

The dress she ended up with, from the description that Shae gave her and the feel of it under her fingers was beautiful. It was a dark blue, with gold lacing and from the feeling of it, the embroidery was very intricate. She had expected Lannister crimson; she was very pleased it was not. The bodice was tight and low cut, narrowing sharply at her hips before billowing gracefully out and down to her feet. The sleeves were long, reaching almost to her fingers. She would be thankful for them during the cool autumn evening. The Queen was many things but a poor judge of fashion was not one of them. And the final touch, as expected, her shoes were flat.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any part or parcel of The Song of Ice and Fire series. That right belongs to the talented George R.R. Martin. I am just using his skills as a muse for my delight.

**A/N:** Lots of people are following this story! I like seeing that. Normally it's my more...affectionate stories that get the attention. I am happy that people are enjoying this story as much! Without further ado, the next chapter.

**A/N2:** A generous reviewer has pointed out a grave error that I should have caught. I prefer my stories to be based on the books and there was an oversight. It is fixed. Thank you!

* * *

People generally ignored Sansa now. They had become accustomed to seeing her walk the castle, her arm linked with her handmaid and the big fellow trailing behind them. No one bothered her; even the stares and whispers had stopped. This day seemed to be the exception: as they were crossing the yard on the way back from the Sept, a group of bawdy boys decided they were bored.

"Hey there, you blind cunt! Why don't you feel your way around this!" one of them shouted, grabbing lewdly at his crotch, despite knowing she couldn't actually see his action.

Sansa stopped in her tracks, confused at what he was talking about, tightening her grip on Shae. Shae tried to pull her along when the boys started to throw whatever was at hand at the two women. Sandor barked at the ladies to stay where they were and crossed the yard in a few short paces.

He faced the boy who had shouted at them and who was also the first to throw. He grabbed him and lifted him a good foot off the cobblestones, "try that again you fucking shit and I will rip that cock of yours off and shove it down your throat." The burned man was generally a sight to behold when he was in the best of moods but they thought he had been tamed from the rumours they heard. Sandor started chuckling and the group of boys scrambling to get away. "Little pup smells like shit. Do it again boy, do it again," Sandor dared, dropping him and not caring that the boy soiled himself. He would think twice next time. He returned to the girls and nodded for Shae to carry on their way.

Sansa was quite upset, even when she was safe in her apartments. She hated being blind more than anything. She sat in her room, sullenly playing with a ball of thread that she would never see or use again. Sandor sat across from her, a habit that was not common for the man. He hated seeing her like this and always blamed himself, always feeling like he could have prevented it if he hadn't run off like a coward after the Battle.

"Just forget them, little bird. Don't let them bother you," he said quietly. He may have been saying more for himself than for her; he was still wound up over the whole incident.

"I don't understand how people can be so cruel. I've never done anything to them. I didn't ask to be blinded. None of this was my fault," Sansa answered, her voice choking at the end.

"They're just ignorant boys, Sansa. If they try anything like that again, I will kill them. I swear by all your Gods, I will.

"No, Sandor. Don't do that. Joffrey may have wanted you to be a cruel man but you aren't truly cruel. You just did what you were told. You didn't have a choice. I will not be like him," she vowed.

They sat in sullen silence again for quite some time. Sandor broke the silence: "You once asked me how I learned how to count everything," he started in his low husky voice. Sansa lifted her head at the sound of his voice but didn't say anything. "Do you remember how I was burned?," he he asked, watching her closely. Even blind, not seeing his eyes on her, Sansa couldn't lie to him.

"Yes, your brother did it. He was angry with you for playing with one of his toys so he burned you to punish you. I said that he was no true knight," she recited for him quietly.

This surprised him, she had never let on that she remembered that story; it was neither beautiful nor endearing. He had underestimated her again by thinking that she had been a stupid, ignorant high born girl then. He only nodded, thankful that he could skip that part. "After I was burned and the Maesters were summoned, they thought I would be permanently blind and a burden on my family. Lord Tywin had sent his own Maester and he even wrote me off as lost the moment he saw my face but another Maester, my fathers' in fact, he said he would do all he could for me. He treated me with salves and pastes but I always had my eyes covered. For my own protection he said, whenever I had asked."

Sansa was listening intently, the ball of thread unmoving in her hands. Shae sat quietly by as well, having stopped whatever it was she had distracted herself with, to listen to his story.

"I asked what I could do as a blind man. I didn't want to be a beggar, couldn't be a farmer, cobbler, smithy and I certainly could be no knight, not that I really wanted to be one anyways, but I would need to be able to do something. The Maester agreed that everyone should be of use. He still wasn't sure about my sight so he taught me to prepare for the worst. First, like you, I learned my own rooms and moved on to learn the castle and everything else. I could tell you the number of paces from my bed to the front gates of the keep if I had to, but that wouldn't be enough to live. He said he taught me that to learn to focus, to sharpen my senses. And he was right, learned to know who was coming by the sound of their boots, the smell they carried, even by the nickering of their horse. When he felt I was good enough, he brought me a wooden plank with holes in it. When I first felt it, I had no sense of what it was until he explained that every group of holes was a letter and when I learned all those letters, I would be able to read those holes as though they were written in clear Westerosi."

"He taught you to read!?" Sansa gasped in excitement. She missed her stories, longed to hear them again. Shae couldn't read well and Sansa couldn't trust anyone else so she hadn't been able to hear her favourite books read to her.

"Aye, little bird. I learned to read with the holes. The Maester came to me one day with a large book. It was thickly paged and bound with leather and brass, I knew that by feel. The book was the Seven Pointed Star and in place of the Maesters ink, there was page after page of holes. He said that the Citadel had a whole library of them and could get me more, or take me to them."

"He wanted you to be a Maester?" Sansa interrupted, unable to comprehend the big man wearing a Maesters robes and chain.

"Aye, I would have had little choice. Join the Citadel, or become a beggar and a burden."

"What did you do?" she asked, wanting him to talk more of his childhood.

"I studied and I learned. I didn't believe in the Gods at that point. They had done nothing to help me, but I would become a Maester if that was all that was left to me. And that was better than being a Septon. Weeks passed, I read and I healed and I read some more. Finally, the Maester decided that my flesh was beyond becoming necrotic and fresh air would do it good. He called it 'the moment of truth'. Well, he unwound the bandages, as we know the end of that. For once in my life, the Gods, or someone, smiled on me and I still had my sight."

Sansa was happy that he had that small positive experience in his life.

"Can you teach me to read with the holes?" She asked hesitantly.

Sandors' head and shoulders drooped heavily. "I'm sorry little bird, but I don't remember how to read them. It's been a long time."

Yet another disappointment.


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any part or parcel of The Song of Ice and Fire series. That right belongs to the talented George R.R. Martin. I am just using his skills as a muse for my delight.

**A/N:** So the rest of the story is written so it will wrap up in the next two weeks. :) Also, the story of the Hedge Knight belongs to George R.R. Martin. I have no claim to that.

* * *

"Has he become her little pet now?" Joffrey asked at the breakfast table. He had heard the men talking of the events in the yard and it didn't please him. The fact that the soldiers embarrassed Sansa gave him great joy but he wasn't impressed to hear that _his_ man, _his_ Hound put a stop to it. He was supposed to guard her, yes, and keep her from harm but they weren't _hurting_ her. He shouldn't have stepped in.

Cersei ignored the question and gave a response of her own, "Sansa is the responsibility of the crown. It would not do well to allow the guards to speak as they had to anyone of proper birth. He was right to stop them. It would look poorly on us if they were seen to get away with it." It was these same men that would likely be going to lay siege against Robb Stark. Knowing that men talk, she did not want word of poor treatment of Sansa to reach any Northmen. Gods knew what it would mean for her brother. Joffrey had been ranting about the girl all morning. She knew something was 'wrong' with her precious boy for some time. He didn't have the same gentleness the little Tommen had or Myrcella's sweetness; which was acceptable, as she was a female. He craved sadism, pain and violence; so long as he was the perpetrator. It was not normal.

"Your Hound has been set to watching a woman who is still more than half a child. He is not a man meant for that. It was a matter of time before he went after someone or another. He is a violent man." Tyrion, unexpectedly spoke up for Sandor. He hadn't lied, but he hadn't exactly spoken the truth either. "I'm more shocked that no one was killed."

"If he was as violent as you claim, why hasn't he harmed her? He is a coward!" Joffery would have been beside himself with giddiness had that happened. "Stannis never could have beaten me. He should have known that. Instead, he ran off. Disgusting," he spat, with a sour expression.

Neither Cersei nor Tyrion responded to him. Tyrion had successfully deflected the focus off of the Stark girl and so he considered his contribution to the conversation a success. He and Cersei both knew that she would not make it through the festival unscathed and with how unpredictable Joff could be, they had no way to guess when or how he would shame her.

* * *

In the Godswood, Sandor was sitting on a bench with Sansa, who was staring blankly ahead, lost in her own thoughts. She had asked for him to take her after she broke her fast when Shae had been summoned elsewhere. He felt awful about not being able to teach her to read and had been sullen for days. He hadn't considered the thought that she would want to learn to read the holes. If he had, he never would have told her that story. It was almost a cruel joke; him opening up to her only to have that moment ruined by his own thoughtlessness. It left a bitter taste in his mouth. He knew she hated being blind and missed all her favourite past-times; her needlework, her stories, her harp and just seeing all the pretty things there were. He shifted uncomfortably where he sat before pulling a small, worn book from a pouch at his hip.

He cleared his throat as he opened the book, startling Sansa before beginning to speak.

"_The spring rains had softened the ground, so Dunk had no trouble digging the grave. He chose a spot on_

_the western slope of a low hill, for the old man had always loved to watch the sunset. _

"_Another daydone," he would sigh, "and who knows what the morrow will bring us, eh, Dunk?" _

_Well, one morrow had brought rains that soaked them to the bones, and the one after had brought wet_

_gusty winds, and the next a chill. By the fourth day the old man was too weak to ride. And now he was_

_gone. Only a few days past, he had been singing as they rode, the old song about going to Gulltown to_

_see a fair maid, but instead of Gulltown he'd sung of Ashford. Off to Ashford to see the fair maid,_

_heigh-ho, heigh-ho, Dunk thought miserably as he dug. _

He read the story of _The Hedge Knight_ in its entirety.

_The boy came the next morning, just as the sun was coming up. He wore old boots, brown breeches, a_

_brown wool tunic, and an old traveler's cloak. "My lord father says I am to serve you." _

"_Serve you, ser," Dunk reminded him. "You can start by saddling the horses. Chestnut is yours, treat her_

_kindly. I don't want to find you on Thunder unless I put you there." _

_Egg went to get the saddles. "Where are we going, ser?" _

_Dunk thought for a moment. "I have never been over the Red Mountains. Would you like to have a look_

_at Dorne?" _

_Egg grinned. "I hear they have good puppet shows," he said._

As he finished the closing lines he couldn't help but feel that for once in his existence, he was thankful that he had a Maester growing up and had been taught to read. This was the first time he felt it had come to much use. Throughout the whole story, he would glance sidelong at Sansa. She was enraptured throughout the whole reading. He could see the emotions dance across her expressions as though she were seeing the story unfold in front of her.

Sansa sighed as the story came to an end. She couldn't help it; she always became so attached to the characters. They always came back to her as though they were old friends.

"Thank you, Sandor. That was lovely." She meant it honestly. His voice was low but clear. He didn't stumble over the words at all.

After that first reading, Sandor began reading to her almost daily while Shae was obligated to be elsewhere. He had also taught her some other games to pass the time. Most of the games were usually for gambling and, under normal circumstances would be deemed inappropriate for a lady of Sansa's birth. Sandor never gave a care about that and she needed to do something besides mope in sullen solitude. Both looked forward to these times every day. Sandor enjoyed seeing that she wasn't so miserable all of the time and Sansa enjoyed the amusement and the company. They generally didn't speak much; Sandor wasn't particularly loquacious but their silences were companionable.

Sansa realized that everything Sandor did, if not solely for her entertainment, had a purpose. When they were playing the different games, Sansa had to remember the positions of her pieces and if his. It sharpened her memory and her ears were also sharpened in the absence of her sight. She could hear minute changes in Sandors breathing when either she or he had blundered. This had helped her in her continual learning of the keep. Full rooms sounded different than empty ones, people had different sounds and smells and a different gait. She also learned to love the rain. It didn't rain often but when it did, it was as though the building came alive. The rain would bounce and echo off the stone and wood, giving the rooms a dimension that she had never noticed before.

Out of everything, she was most thankful for her guardian being Sandor and not the Hound. She was not afraid of him; it had been a long time since she had been. He was now her protector, her solace and more often than not, her preferred companion.

He would keep her safe.


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any part or parcel of The Song of Ice and Fire series. That right belongs to the talented George R.R. Martin. I am just using his skills as a muse for my delight.

**A/N: **I did go back and revise chapter six after an error was pointed out to me. It irritated the hell out of me that I overlooked it. It is fixed.

* * *

When she hadn't been 'assigned' an escort to the festival, she _very_ hesitantly approached Sandor on the subject.

They had been playing a game of checkers. Sandor had carved the pieces in different textures so she would know which were hers. She could hear him resetting the pieces to their proper places.

"Sandor?" she asked, nervously.

"What is it, Sansa?" he asked, continuing to set the board.

"Would you escort me to the festival?" she asked quickly. She had been thinking about the festival more and more as it gradually grew closer. Now that it was only a day away, it was essentially the only thing on her mind.

Sandor, out of surprise, topped the stack of pieces sitting at his elbow.

"What?!" He spat, with a hint of confusion in his voice.

"The Queen hasn't told me of anyone to take me." She finished quickly. She remembered fleetingly of the thoughts of Loras Tyrell and the daydreams her head had once been full of; stupid dreams of a silly girl.

Sandor was quiet for a long period of time. He hadn't expected her to ask that of him. What right had he to take such a high born lady to a royal event? Yes, he was the son of a lord, but his father was the lord of a minor house, not a daughter of Winterfell. Her family was legend; his was just a crack in the stone.

Finally, he responded, "Aye, I'll take you, if you want me to."

She was surprised at the feeling of excitement and relief she felt spread through her at his response. Knowing he would despise it if she made a big deal of it, she responded with a simple "Thank you". He grunted in return.

* * *

Sansa sat quietly as Shae pinned the masque to the short strands of her hair that had grown back. She couldn't see what Shae had done but Sansa had to trust her when she heard and felt the snipping sound of scissors.

"You are ready m'lady," Shae announced proudly. Sansa was all but bald when she came back from the dungeons. In the past months, it had grown back in tufts; gradually filling out and becoming somewhat even. Her hair was far from the long auburn locks she used to have but Shae felt the short tidy cut became her, despite it going against the common style.

She thanked Shae, graciously. She was rightfully nervous; this was her first engagement since her punishment. All the court would be at the festival, dressed in their finest. Sansa was thankful that Cercei had sent her seamstress to make Sansa a new dress. She couldn't see it of course, but she could feel the Myrrish lace, thick velvet and fine embroidery.

As he had promised, Sandor met her at her door. He was cleanly dressed in a tunic he had had made years ago but never worn. It was a deep shade of yellow, not quite gold, embroidered with the three dogs of House Clegane. His hair was freshly cut, his beard neatly trimmed. Shae had never seen such a mutt look so well cleaned up. He would never have been a handsome man, even without the scars, but tonight, he would even make Sansa proud, if she could see him. Shae nodded her approval of him before letting him enter Sansa's apartments.

He waited for her in her sitting room, shuffling nervous and feeling naked without a sword at his hip. In the presence of the king, only the Kings Guard would be permitted weapons. Eventually, Sansa made her appearance. She could only be described as beautiful. The short hair suited her as no one would have expected and the blue of the dress matched the colour that her eyes once were.

He knew that he had no for affectionate words, they always came out gruff. Instead he nodded his approval to Shae and suggested they leave.

He walked her to the staircase of the gardens where the festival was to be held and stood with her waiting for her formal arrival announcement. He liked the feeling of her arm wrapped around his. Thinking about it briefly, he wasn't sure if she generally avoided touching him, or the other way around. Regardless, this change was pleasant.

When it finally came, Sandor led her to the top of the stairs and barely heard her whisper, "Don't let me fall, please." The murmurs that came up at their appearance suggested they had shocked them all. The ferocious, hideous Hound looked the part of a gentleman, the part of an appropriate escort. With his hair and beard properly tended to, even his scars weren't so menacing to most.

He wasn't given the chance to answer her quiet plea.

"She doesn't need a dog to walk her down the stairs!" the familiar, malicious tone rang clear from the dias. "Step away from her, Hound. And take of that stupid masque." Joffrey was already sitting with Lady Margaery, his brother, mother, uncle and a host of Tyrells. The pleasure at the thought of her falling and breaking her neck was palpable, even from this distance.

Sansa swallowed nervously when she felt the tall man step away.

"You'll do fine, Sansa. Just count. I won't let you fall," he said in a quiet, reassuring voice. He released her arm from his and side stepped a very short distance away from her.

Sansa set her jaw defiantly, removed the masque as directed, stood tall, her face forward, just as though she could see exactly where she was going and carefully took the first step. She descended the staircase as she had done so many times in the past weeks. Once she reached the bottom, she again reached for Sandors arm. Shae had described the gardens to her the best she could after she had been dismissed from helping setting up the elaborate layout. With this map in her mind, she turned carefully to where she felt the dais was and walked towards it. She sensed all of Sandors movements and stopped precisely where she was supposed to. The whispers came at her from all directions. She heard snippets of 'hair', 'eyes', 'blind', 'hound', 'scars' and a few other off hand comments that would have cut her to the bone a few months previous.

"Good evening, your Highness, your Grace, Lady Margaery," she said with a smile, curtsying genteelly in front of Joffrey. Fortunately, she could not see the scowl painted so clearly on his face. He was not amused. "The festival sounds lovely," she said carefully. He cut her off before she could add to her courtesies.

"Yes, yes," he snapped at her rudely and waving her away in a huff. He was hoping she would be ugly and hated. He hadn't seen her since he sent her away and wished he had so he could have sent her away again.

Sandor led her to one side to listen to the last few introductions. When they were finished, the guests were permitted to sit down to the festival feast. Sansa carefully worked her way through each course; she could smell all the different foods and using that sense, managed to eat without scratching her fork across the plate or toppling her glass.

When the dishes had been cleared and the tables set aside, it was time for the dance to begin. As tradition dictated, the King and his Lady opened and others joined.

Sansa listened to the melodies float across the garden, bouncing off the stone, absorbing into the foliage. At the closing of one set and the opening of the next, she felt Sandor stand and step over the bench. She wasn't surprised; this wasn't exactly his type of environment and hadn't expected him to stay even this long.

"Sansa?" she heard him ask in a low gravelly voice behind her. She turned to the sound of his voice. "Would you like to dance?"

She was stunned into momentary silence by his unexpected gesture, but still managed to reach out her hand to where she knew his would be waiting. She hadn't thought that he would know how to dance, but thinking about it again, he was the son of a lord and had a maester so it really shouldn't have surprised her.

He led her to where the other couples were twirling in unison in the court and drew her to him. He had never been fond of dancing, but he knew she would be. He was graceful and confident in his moves. He led the dance with refinement that any lady would be proud of. He never let her bump into things and found he actually enjoyed the event he had previously loathed.

Sansa could actually feel herself having fun. It was something she hadn't felt in a long time. Even after her dance with Sandor, she danced with other men but always willingly went back with Sandor. She found herself smiling and laughing freely, more like the girl she had been when she was at home in Winterfell.

Joffrey became more irate with every smile she gave and trill of laughter he heard. She was supposed to be subdued, embarrassed, shunned and ashamed. Instead, she was the only thing everyone was talking about! How beautiful her hair looked, how fine her dress, how _tall _she had grown. He would not take any more of this.

In the middle of a song, he stood abruptly, causing the instruments to screech to a halt.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I have an announcement to make!?" He shouted above the quieting din. "You all know Sansa Stark and the traitorous family she came from."

She froze where she stood. She hated that he always made a point of saying that part. Sandor stood close behind her, she could feel the warmth of his chest against her back. It was a comforting gesture to her.

"Lady Sansa is a woman grown and a ward of the Crown. It is my responsibility to find her a suitable husband."

Sansa's stomach dropped in fear. What fresh Hell had he prepared for her? She could hear the whispers around her as loud as though they were yelling at her.

Everyone seated at the dais stared in shocked surprise at the young man. They knew nothing of his intentions.

"She needs a firm hand, one from a family that knows duty, honour and loyalty." He paused, enjoying her fear before continuing. "After careful consideration, I have decided that Sansa will marry my own uncle, Tyrion of House Lannister, Son of Tywin, Lord of Casterly Rock and Hand of the King!" He clapped at the end of his announcement and gestured towards Tyrion, who himself, did not look pleased.

Sansa's mind went dark, the words of Joffrey ringing in her ears.


End file.
